


Acceptance and Comfort

by akblake



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akblake/pseuds/akblake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from beginning of Goblin Town. Bilbo draws the goblins' attention, and falls in full view of the company, changing his status with the dwarves to one of grateful acceptance rather than suspicion. Shameless H/C</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptance and Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> AU from the beginning of Goblin Town and explores what changes might have taken place had Bilbo fallen in full view of the company and received more realistic injuries from the fall. I'll warn you that this hasn't been proofread at all, so feel free to adopt any errors as door prizes for reading ;)

When the floor fell out from under them and the world fell, Bilbo found himself clutching onto Bofur’s jacket for dear life. They bounced painfully off rock outcroppings and if the dwarf hadn’t returned Bilbo’s desperate hold, they’d have been sent tumbling in different directions. As it was, they landed together before both were squished under the combined weight of Fíli and Kíli.

 

Chaos reigned even before they could stumble to their feet as goblins swarmed the group and Bilbo found himself shoved into the center, behind Ori, with a snarling Dwalin to his left and Bifur shielding his right. Clawed hands slapped and grabbed at them all but Bilbo remained out of the worst of it as the taller dwarves provided a living, breathing shield around him. He couldn’t see where they were being driven until their tormentors abruptly retreated to leave them standing huddled in an open area. Bilbo peeked around Ori’s body and shuddered- whatever the thing before them was, it offended both sight and scent.

 

Pustules swarmed over it like flies on rotted meat, every bit of its flesh sagged and flopped with each of its grandiose movements, and it reeked of incontinence with a following odor of soured open sores. Bilbo’s sensitive nose wrinkled and he ducked his head back around Ori without complaint when a dwarf behind him tugged at his shoulder to remind him to remain hidden. He wasn’t a fighter and he knew it, so he wasn’t going to draw attent… no, that just would _not_ do!

 

“No need to torture anyone, your Magnificence,” Bilbo interrupted and stepped quickly to the side, away from the youngest dwarves, the company themselves, and any protective hands that could haul him back from this huge mistake he’s made. “We truly are on our way to the Iron Hills; they wish to visit family and I wish to procure a trade agreement for pipeweed. We’ve found that dwarves are incredibly fond of our Longbottom leaf and are willing to pay handsomely for it, hence my personal visit to sign a contract with their King’s Master of Trade.”

 

The creature seemed to preen with Bilbo’s compliment and not truly listen to the hastily-concocted lie which followed. Rheumy eyes squinted after a few seconds and the hideous thing pushed its head closer which made Bilbo step backwards as his nose was assaulted by its odor. A goblin roughly shoved him forward again, right into the thing’s face and Bilbo could see its abscess-laden chins far closer than his stomach ever wished to. “And what, exactly, would a tender, tasty morsel such as yourself be doing with a pack of dwarves? They’re greedy, hoarding creatures that hold no tenderness for others outside their own people. Why, you’d barely be a snack to a hungry warg, tiny as you are!”

 

Bilbo truly didn’t like the hungry look in the monstrosity’s eyes, or how its mouth grew damp enough for spittle to fly as it spoke of snacks. He certainly didn’t all this talk about being eaten, as it made the goblins behind him shriek and claw at each other with excitement. “I’m paying them to escort me, of course. I’m no warrior, as you’ve pointed out, and have paid for my place in their party as they travel.” A raised eyebrow from the fetid goblin was the only clue Bilbo received that his lie had been seen through before a screeching weight dropped onto his shoulders and sent him stumbling towards the edge.

 

He could hear shouts and clangs ring in his ears, but couldn’t spare any focus for them as he twisted and fought to dislodge the biting, clawing menace. His feet hit damp wood, and then the world fell out from under him for the second time that night as the boards crumbled beneath his toes and sent him tumbling into the dark. What sounded like Gandalf's booming voice echoed from above before a brilliant flash of white light illuminated the black crevasse and Bilbo grabbed for anything that could slow his fall, but his nails only scraped the surface of rocks, and the only rope within his grasp tore loose from his hold with a jerk that sent fiery agony up his arm and shoulder. Not too long after, Bilbo’s head glanced off a rock and he went limp as a fog descended in his mind, dulling the fear and pain. His abrupt landing below sent him into darkness.

 

***

 

Shouts and calls brought Bilbo back to himself, and he fought to haul himself upright from the tangled sprawl he’d become. As he forced his arms and legs to obey, the world slowly cleared until he could mostly remember how he ended up in the middle of a fungus pile. “Here! I’m…” Bilbo tried to call and had to clear his throat before his voice stopped wavering. “I’m right here!” He stumbled out onto clear ground and into a body which immediately moved to support him when a bout of dizziness sent his footing awry. Bilbo yelped and cradled his left arm close as the body, Dwalin he belatedly realized, released it and allowed the dwarf to instead hold onto his waist.

 

“Move, and keep quiet!” another voice hissed and Bilbo could barely make out Nori’s shape in the gloom. He obediently bit back his questions and followed behind as Nori led them along a twisting path between sheer rock walls which, at times, seemed so close that the dwarves couldn’t possibly fit. They did, however, and Dwalin’s hands found his waist in support any time Bilbo stumbled or listed. Balance, always a tricky thing for him, was especially difficult in this case as the knock to his head and the darkness wreaked havoc with his senses. Bilbo could have cried out with joy when they snaked around a corner and he spied daylight shining through a fissure- they were free!

 

Eyes stinging in the bright sunlight, Bilbo couldn’t make out shapes beyond blobs and a tall grey blur that could only be Gandalf, but his ears caught the voices of his friends and he mentally counted all thirteen as they spoke. They’d survived. Relief washed through him and his bruises seemed to throb anew now that other worries weren’t occupying his mind. Bilbo blinked rapidly and forced his eyes to slit open enough to watch where gentle hands guided him- they’d set up a small camp at the foot of the mountains, and already had a cauldron of water heating over a small fire. Bedrolls weren’t laid out, but packs had been discarded haphazardly beside rocks which appeared as if they’d been pulled around to make a ring of seats. They actually were seats, he discovered, as he was guided to sit on one.

 

“Are you well, Master Baggins?” asked a voice which could only belong to Thorin, and Bilbo blinked at the dark, fuzzy shape before him, not quite believing that the same Thorin who spat horrible words at him just that past night could be the same dwarf before him now.

 

Bilbo gathered his scattered mind and managed, “Not entirely, I’m afraid.” A firm hand guided his chin upwards, and his eyes watered anew as he directly faced the sun’s light. Fingers carefully probed at his face, revealing painful spots which he hadn’t even noticed yet, and which must be bruises and scrapes from the tumbles he took. He irritably pulled back and the hands didn’t follow, for which he was thankful. The pain must have cleared his mind a bit, as he could now see the thoughtful frown on Thorin’s face as the dwarf seemed to look over his hunched form. As long as the dwarf refrained from any more insults, Bilbo was perfectly willing to sit quietly on his rock and allow the scrutiny. His shoulder hurt rather abominably and he truly didn’t feel up for any verbal sparring. Actually, he mentally corrected as the world shifted to the left again, he didn’t feel up for anything at all, much less sitting upright.

 

Hands he couldn’t see interfered with Thorin’s and carefully guarded his sore shoulder as they helped him upright again. This time, though he was guided to lean back against a solid chest by arms which came around his belly to hold him steady. Bilbo muzzily considered that he was practically sitting in Dwalin’s lap, and it could only be Dwalin from the tattoos he could see, and discarded the thought of struggling or insisting on sitting alone. He’d already tried that, for starters, and it hadn’t gone well, so Bilbo quietly trusted his weight to the dwarf as he watched the camp with eyes that didn’t appreciate the bright sunlight, but were clearing.

 

He watched Óin turn back to a flinching Kíli while Thorin leaned against the rock beside Dwalin’s knee. “Are the others injured too?” Bilbo forced through his lethargy, and he definitely recognized the effects of a knock to the head- skewed balance, sensitivity to light, fogginess, exhaustion… yes, he certainly recognized the symptoms as he’d fallen out of a fair few trees when playing with his Took cousins as a faunt.

 

“Bruises and scratches for the most part,” Thorin answered even as he glared Kíli into stillness once again. “Kíli cut his arm on a splintered railing, and Óin felt it best that the gouge be thoroughly scrubbed clean as those creatures left their filth on every surface and he doesn’t want to tend a soured wound later.”

 

Bilbo couldn’t help the little laugh which escaped. “Doesn’t look as if Kíli appreciates that precaution,” he noted dryly. Indeed, Thorin’s youngest nephew twitched and fidgeted as Óin dug deeply into the short bloody gash in search of dirty splinters. As the sight made his queasy stomach roll a bit, Bilbo closed his eyes and simply rested against Dwalin. He was curious why the two dwarves were indulging him when before they had ignored or disparaged him, but couldn’t be bothered to ask. He couldn’t even stir up much irritation with the metal circle thing on Dwalin's chest which dug into the back of his head with each breath the dwarf took. After a time, he drifted off to the sun’s warmth and hum of indistinct words as Dori fussed over Ori.

 

***

 

A hand thumped onto his knee, startling him into awareness with a painful jump, and he opened his eyes to find himself eye to eye with a crouching Óin. “You didn’t answer when I called, lad, have you injured your ears?” he asked, and Bilbo tried to push himself attentively upright only to hiss as he knocked his elbow out of Dwalin's hand and his arm’s full weight pulled at his shoulder again. He clenched his jaw against the hot rush of agony to keep a loud cry behind his teeth. Dwalin captured his elbow again almost immediately, but the injured muscles protested with waves of spasms that made him hunch over before Dwalin's arm over his belly came up and gently pulled him upright again. Óin helped by pushing a large hand against the top of his chest, just below his collarbones, and held him back against Dwalin's bulk.

 

“Breathe, lad, don’t forget to breathe,” Óin reminded and Bilbo gulped down a breath which caught in his throat. He held it until the urge to cough passed, and then tried a gentler exhale. Behind him, Dwalin conspicuously breathed in slowly, and Bilbo followed the obvious hint to match. It went down much easier, and his body began to unwind itself again. “Now, Master Baggins, where do you hurt?” Óin prompted.

 

Bilbo took another steadying breath and mentally checked with his body. Since his nap, his headache had eased a bit and his various bruises and scrapes no longer burned so fiercely. “The worst of it seems to be my shoulder; think I wrenched it in the second fall,” he answered, and ignored Thorin’s intruding presence as the dwarf explained to Óin that Bilbo had also hit his head at some point. “Yes, I did hit my head, but it’s no worse than other bumps I’ve taken.”

 

“I’ll still have a look, if you don’t mind, just to be sure there’s nothing to worry over- head injuries can be sneaky devils and I’d rather we not be surprised later with complications,” Óin reasoned, and Bilbo couldn’t argue with his logic. Óin gently explored his scalp with careful fingers and found several sore spots, likely from their first tumble and landing in a pile of armored dwarves, before he brushed up against one which made Bilbo flinch. It was just above and behind his right ear and made him duck his head away from the probing fingers.

 

Óin gave him a firm look before he followed Bilbo’s movement to fully examine the spot before he sat back on his heels. “Well, lad, I’d say that you had the right measure of it. There’s a knot the size of an egg over your ear with a small cut that’s already stopped bleeding. We’ll give that a good wash later when we set up camp, but I don’t want to disturb the scab now and start it bleeding again- head wounds bleed like nothing else and it’s better to leave this one alone for a bit. Now, let’s see what damage you’ve done to that shoulder of yours,” Óin gestured, and then batted Bilbo’s fingers out of the way as he went to unbutton his shirt one-handed. “ **I’ll** be taking care of that, no need to jostle yourself about and set off that shoulder again,” he reprimanded.

 

Given no choice in the matter, Bilbo gave a tiny sigh and allowed the healer to push his poor ruined vest aside to finish unbuttoning his shirt. His backrest vanished as Dwalin leaned back to give Óin enough room to ease the fabric down behind his shoulder, and Bilbo sucked in air through clenched teeth because the entire thing, though gently done, still jostled painfully.

 

Óin gave him an apologetic look before he began pushing blunt fingers around the socket, and Dwalin had to firmly pin his belly in place as Bilbo writhed away from the examination. “You’ve definitely done yourself a true injury here,” the dwarf exclaimed as he finished squeezing into muscle to feel the bones underneath.

 

Bilbo protectively brought up his other hand to cup around his throbbing shoulder, and he curled in on himself. He wasn’t a healer, but even he could see that the joint was far more than simply wrenched- it was angular, sunken, and just looked _wrong_. After Óin’s poking, though, he was very certain that he didn’t want it touched again any time soon!

 

“Well, it’s been pulled out of the joint, and we’ll need to put it back in,” Óin bluntly diagnosed, and Bilbo shuddered. He’d seen a man once, in Bree, put another man’s shoulder back in joint by yanking on it. The other man had bellowed so loudly that he frightened the pigs two streets over, and Bilbo felt horror freeze his insides as he considered the dwarf before him.

 

Built by their Maker to be sturdy and strong, Óin was wider yet than half of the company, and one entire hand could easily wrap around his entire upper arm. Nope! “Are there any, any settlements of men nearby?” Bilbo managed to ask around his suddenly dry throat. Óin’s eyebrows furrowed before he leaned back a bit to look over to Bilbo’s right. Partially fearful of a trick distraction, Bilbo chanced a quick glance to see Thorin’s fingers motioning something. He felt doubly wary now.

 

“What would you want with men? They barely know which end of a needle holds thread, much less how to handle a little fellow like you, and there isn’t a town of men within several days’ ride,” Óin barked, and Bilbo’s heart sank.

 

“It’s only, I’ve seen a shoulder put back in, and you’re strong enough that I’m afraid you’ll yank my arm right off with one pull. I’m not built to the same scale as dwarves, is what I mean.” Bilbo watched Óin again glance sideways at Thorin for more finger motions, and realized that there wasn’t a hidden trick in it- without his ear trumpet, Óin couldn’t hear speech clearly and the finger motions must have been a sort of silent language, or pantomime for him.

 

Óin turned back to examine Bilbo closely again for a moment before he spoke. “Master Baggins, I’ve been a healer for more than a century, and in that time I’ve held newly-born babes, helped younglings after games and explorations went awry, and worked on dwarves who yet act as younglings,” Óin tipped his head back to indicate Kíli. “I can vouch, as can most of this company, that I well know my own strength; you’ll not come to additional harm at my hands,” he vowed. Behind him, Bilbo could feel Dwalin nod in agreement.

 

Bilbo considered the offer carefully. On the one side, he knew full well that the injury did need tending else he’d lose the use of the arm completely. On the other side, Óin’s abilities were unknown and potentially harmful if the dwarf forgot that hobbits couldn’t take rough handling like dwarves could. The one detail which caught his attention and kept distracting him from his thoughts was that the dwarves had settled themselves and seemed to be patiently awaiting his answer. They didn’t appear impatient, or poised to force him into compliance the moment he looked away…

 

“Why are you lot suddenly being so nice?” he blurted out, and then clapped his good hand over his mouth with shock at how rude that managed to sound. That _hadn’t_ been what he’d intended to say, not one bit!

 

Though none of them yelled in outrage at his lip, he did hear a few poorly-muffled snickers from the rest of the company, who he only just realized had gathered carefully on the ground around their small fire in the best positions to watch his goings-on. Ori even appeared to have forgotten his job of stirring whatever bubbled away in the pot suspended above it. Bilbo firmly redirected his attention away from the busybodies. Óin appeared amused, if a bit surprised, and Thorin only blinked at him a bit blankly with obvious confusion. Dwalin took a deep breath, startling him as his backrest suddenly moved, and recommended, “Let’s see you looked after first- shoulder of yours can’t wait till later but talk can. We need to put more forest between us and these mountains before we lose the daylight and those goblins are free to roam.”

 

He certainly couldn’t fault that logic, as Bilbo had absolutely no desire to meet goblins again; could actually pass the rest of his life quite happily if he never saw another goblin, if his opinion were asked. “Then I will be grateful for your aid, Master Óin,” he invited with all the manners his father had drilled into him.

 

At his invitation, Ori used a cup to scoop something out of the cooking pot, added water from a skin Fíli offered, and brought it over. Bilbo accepted, but gave him a bit of a blank look- he was about to have his shoulder painfully yanked back into place… a hot drink would be soothing, but this attempt at tea smelled a bit, well, _off_.

 

“Oh, it’s white willow!” Ori hurried to explain, and Óin tapped the cup’s bottom in a silent command for Bilbo to drink. “Only problem with it is that it’ll take a while before it dulls the pain, or at least that’s what Óin told Kíli.” He offered Bilbo an apologetic look, “I’ve never needed it before, so I wouldn’t know how well it works… or how it tastes, so I’d recommend drinking it quickly.”

 

Remembering some of the horrifically disgusting concoctions he’d had to drink when he took sick as a faunt, Bilbo sucked in a large breath before he gulped down the cup’s contents in one go. Even with the precaution it still left a bitter taste on his tongue, and he made a disgusted face as Ori reclaimed the cup. He braced himself for the nightmare to come, and nodded at Óin, “I believe I’m ready now, Master Óin.”

 

Dwalin and Óin both worked to ease Bilbo’s coat completely off, and Bilbo found his efforts stilled by gentle hands every time he tried to help them. Eventually, he simply sat passively and let them move him however they wished to remove his jacket and vest, and then push his shirt down so it hung from his wrists. Bilbo couldn’t imagine _why_ his upper body needed to be bare- he was bruised from top to toe, yes, but they were only going to reset his shoulder, right? He thought about asking, but Óin’s hands gripped his arm and rotated it to bring his hand out as if asking for a handshake, and Bilbo instead gritted his teeth in anticipation of the coming pain.

 

Óin’s bushy eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Lad, I can’t help you at all if you don’t relax,” he scolded, and Bilbo tried to relax, he honestly did. It just didn’t work well when he was expecting his arm to be yanked off and he told Óin as much.

 

“Now, why would I go pulling on the thing? It’s already out of joint as it is, Master Baggins; I’m trying to put it back in, not cost you the use of it entirely! Now, sit up straight, there’s a lad- push your shoulders back a bit, and relax,” the dwarf scolded gruffly. Bilbo found himself automatically following Óin’s orders and blinked with surprise when the top of his back thumped into Dwalin's chest.

 

“Now, do your best to relax your arm, and no slouching!” Óin shuffled over so he wasn’t squatting directly in front of Bilbo, and repositioned Bilbo’s arm. Now the dwarf’s wide left hand supported Bilbo's elbow while he encouraged Bilbo’s hand to rest on his forearm.

 

As this wasn’t anything like what he saw with the men in Bree, Bilbo truly didn’t have any idea what Óin planned to do and nearly jumped out of his skin when the dwarf reached up to begin massaging the muscle that sat between his neck and shoulder. It wasn’t the gentle massage he’d occasionally seen his parents exchange, this hurt and felt like Óin was trying to dig his blunt fingers _through_ the muscle.

 

“Don’t squirm,” Óin chastised, and Dwalin set a hand on Bilbo’s other shoulder to help keep him from leaning away, “your muscles around the joint need to relax.” He shifted his focus to now knead the upper part of Bilbo’s arm. “Once your joint separates, the muscles tighten as a response, and they end up keeping the bones separated. It should slip back together on its own if I can make those muscles relax,” he explained.

 

Hurting more than he’d prefer to admit, Bilbo just kept his mouth shut and attempted not to tense up against the iron fingers attempting to knead his muscles into paste. He nodded, which is all Óin seemed to require as an acknowledgment, and pushed his studiously straight spine back into the fur of Dwalin's odd armor-clothing. As he moved, something in his shoulder _shifted_ and he jerked with surprise at the odd feeling. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t normal either.

 

“Don’t move yet, lad, let me make sure it’s solidly back in or we’ll have to do this again,” Óin scolded as he carefully felt all around the joint, front and back, and rotated Bilbo’s arm to check its movement. “I do believe that it’s perfectly fine now, Master Baggins, but I expect you to tell me if your fingers start tingling or go cold- something in there may be pinched, and you can lose the use of your arm if you don’t speak up.”

 

“I will certainly let you know,” Bilbo promised, honestly so relieved to be pain-free that he’d have agreed to anything the dwarf asked. He let them maneuver him back into his shirt and vest and was quite thankful to finally be covered again as the wind had picked up. While they’d been occupied with putting his shoulder back together, heavy clouds moved in to cover the setting sun, and now the wind felt more cutting than refreshing.

 

“If you’re ready, we must move with all haste; the goblins will be seeking vengeance and remaining would not be wise,” Thorin ordered as he moved back into Bilbo’s sight and crossed to retrieve his own pack from beside the charred pile of ash where the little fire had been. Bilbo startled a bit at the sudden voice and movement, as he’d forgotten Thorin’s silent presence behind them; the dwarf hadn’t loomed over them and hadn’t offered a single comment after he finished translating Bilbo’s words into that odd finger-language for Óin. As far as Bilbo knew, he hadn’t even moved- the dwarves were anything but silent, and the armor and weapons they loved so much would clink and creak with each breath.

 

Bilbo found himself eased to his feet and discovered that his constant dizziness had eased, either due to his nap or simple time. Either way, he was incredibly grateful to have lost one aggravation, especially as his bruises seemed to have bloomed into a full-body ache now that he wasn’t so focused on his shoulder. Instead of a screaming pain, it had settled to a low ache which he could happily live with, especially when the memory of it remained quite fresh in his mind. At a clank of metal on stone behind him, he turned to see Dwalin stand and blinked away a throb in his temple at the sudden movement. His dizziness may have faded, but his headache yet remained, and he knew from experience that he’d feel it for the next day or two.

 

“Have another cup of willow- it should help with your head,” Ori handed him another cup as soon as Bilbo turned around, and he choked it down while trying to keep his stomach from revolting. It had gone cold, must have been the last cup left before the small pot was packed away, but the temperature still didn’t do anything to make it any more palatable. Bilbo blinked as his jacket was tucked around his shoulders by large hands, but he didn’t end up with his own pack- he spied it with Kíli, who’d stacked it atop his own.

 

The rest of the dwarves shouldered their packs, far faster than they moved on most mornings, and before Bilbo knew it, they were moving away from the mountain at a rapid clip, nearly a dash. He did notice that everyone was moving stiffly, pained, but didn’t have the breath to ask why as they all rushed through the trees in a race against the sun. Bilbo stumbled over his own clumsy and aching feet in a rush of dizziness and a pair of arms deftly scooped him up. “Curl up a bit, Master Baggins,” Dori’s voice gently ordered, not even the slightest out of breath despite his run, and Bilbo flushed but complied. The position did create a place for him to tuck his arm, take the strain off his shoulder, but being carried in the dwarf’s arms made him feel like an embarrassed faunt who’d fallen and scraped his knees. Still, it was better than running through a forest with his aching head and body so Bilbo pragmatically resigned himself to being carried, though he couldn’t overcome the flush he felt warming his face.

 

***

 

By the time they stopped at sunset when the forest’s shadows darkened too much for safe passage, Bilbo was more than ready to sit quietly on the bedroll where Dori placed him. Someone had been kind enough to set it up for him, but Bilbo had no idea who it could have been and honestly didn’t care at the moment beyond being grateful that he was still, quiet, and could sit in peace while the dwarves made camp and began dinner. His head was still spinning a bit from being shaken by Dori’s stride and right now he didn’t want to face food even though he knew that he’d have to eat later. Ori dropped down to sit beside him and offered a fresh waterskin, still wet and cold from being refilled in the stream Bilbo could hear burbling nearby.

 

“My brother will likely lecture you later about keeping yourself safe, Master Baggins, but I wanted to thank you for trying to save me from the goblins. That was incredibly brave of you!” the young dwarf enthused gratefully. Bilbo smiled and patted Ori’s knee despite not knowing exactly which dwarf was his brother. The relationships between the dwarves all appeared complex and Bilbo hadn’t felt comfortable about asking them to clarify their family ties. Hobbits considered such to be prime dinner conversation, but he’d already learned that dwarves held different manners and didn’t wish to misstep even more than he already had.

 

“Well, I couldn’t just hide behind you like a terrified mouse while those nasty things were discussing torturing you and Kíli, now could I?” Bilbo replied a bit rhetorically, bemused at this entire situation now that he didn’t hurt too badly, and couldn’t believe how much energy Ori still had after escaping from goblins and running for hours.

 

“You weren’t one of us before, didn’t owe us, and we wouldn’t have blamed you for keeping silent. You’re little and not a dwarf, but you still helped, and I thank you for that,” Ori reached over and gently gave him a little hug before he abruptly scrambled up and darted over to join his brothers in setting up their bedrolls. Bilbo shook his aching head at the enthusiasm of youth; it truly could overcome anything.

 

Creaks of leather and a muffled clinking alerted Bilbo to a dwarf walking up behind him, who must have been the one to send Ori scurrying, and a pair of metal-tipped boots came to rest just to the left of his bedroll. He looked up, and then even further up, to see Thorin’s profile before his balance abruptly gave way to another bout of dizziness. “If you want to talk, then I’ll invite you to sit, Master Thorin,” Bilbo fell back on his manners even as he nearly fell over. His good arm caught his weight before he bowled over completely onto his back, and Thorin helped right him before the dwarf knelt down. Bilbo looked askance at the odd choice, but then reconsidered that perhaps sitting with that much leather and armor just wouldn’t be comfortable, and struggling to rise again afterwards wouldn’t look terribly dignified.

 

“Shall I call Óin over for you, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked with obvious concern. He maintained a steady and easy gaze which Bilbo found disconcerting after the past few months of being glared at or dismissed.

 

“No, no, I’m quite alright. Taken enough knocks to the head in my life to know that the dizziness should pass by morning; it’s nothing serious and not worth bothering Master Óin over,” Bilbo waved away the offer.

 

Thorin nodded thoughtfully. “If you’re certain, then,” he appeared to hesitate before continuing. “You asked a question before which there wasn’t time enough to answer and I would do so now, if you’ll allow?”

 

Bilbo nodded cautiously and gestured for the dwarf to continue.

 

“You asked why we were being kind to you, with the implication that we hadn’t previously provided care. I must admit that you were treated shamefully, and for that I offer to you an apology.” Thorin waited, and after moments of silence Bilbo realized that he was truly being offered an apology and not just the polite words.

 

“Oh, accepted and forgiven, of course,” he hurriedly stammered and Thorin gave him a deep nod, the closest to a bow that he’d seen from the dwarf.

 

“We were suspicious of your addition and did not possess your full measure. We also did not seek it. That is to our shame and nearly to our loss, as we’ve come to realize. I owe my personal thanks to you as Kíli is my sister’s son, second of my heirs, and you stood in his defense to bandy words with that putrid excrescence at the near cost of your own life. Gandalf may have helped us fight our way free of the caves, but you acted to spare others from torment, and that stands as a testament to your compassion.”

 

Bilbo sputtered at the flattering words, but Thorin continued speaking over his scattered noises. “I have already asked that Dori not approach you until he can offer thanks without attaching a lecture to them,” Bilbo could see Thorin’s lips quirk up in a small grin, the most he’d ever seen from the dwarf, “so you shall have a day or two’s grace before he descends. He’d be lost without Ori to dote upon, and you’ve earned steadfast loyalty from all three brothers with your actions.” Thorin paused to watch the fire flicker, and Bilbo thought that the odd conversation was finished. When the dwarf’s voice sounded again he started, caught drifting in exhaustion.

 

“You have also earned the gratitude of every dwarf here, Master Baggins, including myself. They will each show their regard in small ways, but should you ever have a need of us, simply ask and we will come. I name you dwarf-friend, Bilbo Baggins, for your selfless protection of my people,” Thorin stood easily with a creak of leather, and formally bowed low to Bilbo.

 

“Oh! Erm, thank you,” Bilbo managed, completely at a loss as Shire manners never covered _this_. Thorin’s face was softer than usual, and Bilbo suspected that the sneaky dwarf enjoyed Bilbo’s discomfiture even as he offered formal thanks.

 

Thorin opened his mouth to reply, only to snap into wary defense as the undergrowth around their camp rustled. Swords and axes were drawn, only to sag in the hands of their wielders when Gandalf bustled into sight.

 

“I’ve erased our scent from the trail, so the goblins won’t have anything to follow should they descend from their caves,” the wizard stated without preamble. He sat himself by the fire and appeared to busy himself with his waterskin’s closure, completely ignoring the startled looks he received.

 

The dwarves quickly adjusted, accepted his words, and carried on with their duties as Thorin offered Bilbo a slight nod of parting before he joined Gandalf in quiet conversation. Likely planning tomorrow’s march, Bilbo suspected, from the hand waving and pointing at Thorin’s map. Bilbo quickly lost interest in favor of the soup and tea Fíli brought.

 

Fíli didn’t speak, only gave him a serious nod, and Bilbo finally realized that Kíli must have been his kin, likely his brother given their seemingly close ages; their alike-sounding names also being an obvious clue that he’d missed, but Fíli’s solemn gratitude told him that the two inseparable dwarves were more than close friends, despite their dissimilar appearances. Thinking about which dwarf could be related to which left Bilbo’s head aching worse, and so he addressed himself to the soup until his bowl emptied. The tea he dithered over, as he now recognized the scent of white willow, but as the previous two doses had significantly dulled the pain, Bilbo held his breath and swallowed quickly.

 

He set the cup and bowl aside to be washed later, justifying his laziness with the knowledge that if he tried to crouch over the stream to wash them, he’d likely lose his balance and fall in. Washing was a job better left until his dizziness faded, and his exhaustion eliminated the idea of staying up to chat with the dwarves for a few more hours. Bilbo laid back on his bedroll, situated his arm comfortably under his blanket, and let himself drift off to sleep. He’d had quite the busy and taxing day, after all, but he felt certain that it could only get better from here now that he had friends. Yes, the worst was behind him, he sleepily congratulated himself.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, the method I chose for Oin to implement is the Cunningham method of shoulder reduction. In other words, it's a real technique for putting a dislocated shoulder back into place and works best for forward dislocations (as opposed to ones where the arm is below or behind the shoulder joint). It's a gentler method, especially when the patient is awake and aware enough to help in their own treatment, and pain medication is usually given, but they don't really have narcotics in Middle Earth, so Bilbo go to do with nothing more than willow. That was psychologically important here, because time a patient can be involved in their own treatment, it gives a sense of reassurance and control (though the patient's *actual* control may be minimal) through what otherwise can be an incredibly painful and traumatizing experience.
> 
> (Update 25 December 2016: researching this fic and learning about the Cunningham method really saved me a lot of pain today. Fell and dislocated my shoulder when doing a home repair project, but managed to massage it back into place before the ambulance arrived. Now it's just really sore, but they didn't need to go pulling on it, so never let anyone tell you that reading/writing fanfic is a waste of time!)
> 
> Also, white willow has long been used as pain relief/anti-inflammatory medication. It can be made into a paste, brewed into a "tea", or processed into powder which may be taken alone or pressed into a pill format. It's what we had available long before Tylenol, Aleve, Paracetamol, and the like were even created. If you're curious, look it up, though I advise avoiding the new-age sites- mostly hype with very little actual information given.
> 
> As always, if you have questions about any part of this, feel free to ask! :)


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